


you're the voice (try and understand it)

by screwsfallout



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Caretaking, Drunk Hunk, Keith is the RA, M/M, Mention of Panic Attacks, Pre-Slash, Sickfic, sick keith, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 22:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screwsfallout/pseuds/screwsfallout
Summary: You can do anything for a minute, Keith thinks.(Keith is sick, and the last thing he needs right now is to deal with Lance).





	you're the voice (try and understand it)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks carefulren for the brilliant prompt (I don't know why but it won't let me link your account right now, will try to fix later!)
> 
> Testing this out, since I don't normally post my Voltron stuff to ao3

There’s an alarm going off. There’s an alarm going off and it’s getting louder and harder to ignore. Keith forces his eyes open - they’re gummy with sleep and he has to blink away blurriness. He reaches out to silence his phone, but accidentally knocks it to the floor instead. It clatters against the tile and he winces. 

Keith’s never been more exhausted.

Every inch of him feels leaden and uncomfortable. He coughs weakly into his pillow. The alarm is still playing, and it’s making Keith’s skin crawl. He finally manages to reach down and turn it off.

He squints at the lock-screen. It’s 2am - officially time for rounds.

Keith pulls himself out of bed and dresses sloppily, throwing on a long sleeve and a sweatshirt over his leggings. All he has to do is check the halls, make sure no one is throwing up in the bathroom, and he can go back to sleep.

This was his always his favorite part of the night or, at least, it should have been: Keith loved walking through the empty dorm. The quiet never bothered him. He’d run his hands along the beige concrete walls which were textured and bumpy from too many coats of paint, and walk down each hall meticulously. Up and down the stairs, checking the bathrooms, and all the while knowing – this is safe. This is warm, and safe, and dry. 

If someone was yelling, Keith could stop it. If someone was hurting, Keith could help.

Tonight though, tonight the concrete walls and empty stairwells only made him feel worse. 

 _Please_ , Keith thinks,  _please don’t let there be an emergency tonight_.

He starts his rounds on the first floor, like always. His footsteps scrape, but he doesn’t notice. All he can hear is the  _badum, badum, badum_  of his heartbeat. His head aches along with it.

He checks the first floor and then the second and the third, and on his final walkthrough on 4, he hears the stairwell doors slam shut. There’s a laugh, clear and familiar.

Keith groans and steps out into the stairwell himself. From below, he hears voices.

“Hunk, buddy, you have to help me out, I can’t carry you upstairs by myself.”

“Mmm well I always carry you.” Hunk is slurring a little. Keith’s surprised, he’s never had to worry about Hunk. In fact, Keith secretly thinks of Hunk as his favorite resident, the only responsible Sophomore on the 3rd floor (amidst what is a group of frequent, and often frantic, partiers).

 _You have to cut them some slack_ , Shiro always said,  _they’re learning their limits._

That’s exactly why Keith doesn’t drink. He knows that people never really learn their limits. Some people drink and drink and drink until they pass out on the grass, or vomit all over the bathroom floor. Some people drink until their blood boils - drink until their knuckles go numb enough to hit anything that moves or breathes or stares too long.

So, Keith doesn’t drink. He doesn’t understand the appeal, anyway, and the thought of going to parties makes his throat itch. He’s tried, but every time Shiro drags him out, Keith ends up in a corner, sipping water from a red solo cup and trying to ignore the heavy and familiar loneliness of being adrift in a room full of other people. 

“Hunk!! Don’t - stop that - you can’t sleep on the stairs. You already have a bad back.”

Keith takes a deep breath in. Instead of settling his agitation, it wheezes through his chest and he ends up doubled over, hands on his knees with a cough that echoes through the stairwell.

“Well, that sounds terrible.” Lance says.

Keith takes a few shallow breaths and steels himself to move. And to deal with Lance. Mostly, to deal with Lance. 

If Hunk is Keith’s favorite, Lance is Keith’s personal pain in the ass. He’s been written up twice this year already, mostly because he’s always loud and open about everything and never lets Keith look the other way.

Also, Lance has a way of being someplace at exactly the worst possible time. Like now.

Keith makes his way downstairs and crosses his arms when he gets to the landing right above Lance and Hunk.

“Step up. Perfect. Step up again. You got it!! Step…” Lance looks up and catches sight of Keith, who is standing ramrod straight and frowning. 

“Fu–uuuck.”

“Bad word!” Hunk says gleefully. “You owe a dollar to the jar.” 

“Uh, not right now buddy, we got company.”

Hunk looks up and sees Keith. He smiles widely and waves, stumbling on the next stair. “Keith! Hi Keith!”

“Hi Hunk,” Keith says. It’s the first time he’s spoken since dinner, and his voice is low and full of gravel. “Did you have fun tonight?”

“Yeah, it was so great. Lance is the best. I love him, he’s my best friend. Lance, you know you’re my best person right?”

“Yeah, of course, and you’re totally my best person too,” Lance says, because it’s Hunk, and because it’s true. “But also, shhhhhh.”

“Why shhhh? You said only shhhhh because we would wake up Keith but he’s already awake. He’s right here.”

“I’m right here,” Keith says. It’s hard to be annoyed with Hunk in general, but especially now. Keith wants to let them go, rules be damned. But he can’t make exceptions, not when Hunk is so clearly drunk, and not when Lance is so clearly…Lance.  

“Oh boy.” Lance says. “Here we go.”

This is when Keith would normally offer up a dry response, Lance would come back with some sort of dumb insult, and they would volley back and forth until Keith got fed up and either gave a warning or walked away. Except Keith barely feels well enough to be standing, and he can’t find the strength (or the clarity of thought) to play that game tonight.

Instead, Keith just sighs. “I’m sorry Hunk, I’ll have to write you up.”

“It’s okay,” Hunk says. “I know everyone thinks you’re a jerk but you’re just trying to be the best RA, right? I think you’re the best.”

Keith’s throat goes tight.

“Thanks Hunk,” he says, quiet.

Lance doesn’t let it go so easily.

“Really? You can’t let him off with a warning? He never gets this drunk. It’s literally one time.”

Keith sighs. He agrees with Lance, actually, but he can’t bend the rules just because he likes someone. He goes to say just that but his chest seizes, and he has to lean against the railing while a few barking coughs claw their way out of his throat.

“Oh shit.” Lance says, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Keith pushes away from the railing, and blinks away black spots from the edges of his vision.

“Are you…sure?”

“Yes,” Keith says again, tone brittle.

“Okay, well. If you’re gunna write him up, can you at least help us back to our room?”

There’s one long, startling moment where Keith isn’t sure he has the strength.

 _You can do anything for a minute_ , Keith thinks. This is what Shiro says to him when everything gets too much, when he can’t breathe, when he finds himself at his brother’s door panting and pale and hopeless. You can do anything for a minute, and that minute builds into two minutes, then five, then 10 and on and on.

“Of course.” Keith says, walking downstairs and grabbing under Hunk’s other arm. “Ready?”

“Yup! Hunk, we’re on the move. You good?”

“So good,” Hunk says. And he is, with one person on each side, he’s good to finish most of the climb on his own. When they get to the third floor, Keith has to brace himself on the railing with his other hand.

He’s dizzy. It feels like the floor is tipping, just slightly, just enough to make him feel like he could stumble and fall.

“Uh, Keith?”

“What,” he snaps, blinking furiously, trying to clear his vision.

“You just - stopped.”

Fuck.

“Sorry. Let’s keep going.”

“Okay,” Lance says, drawing out the word like he’s lodging a complaint.

Keith let’s it pass, and they get Hunk down the hall. Lance pulls out his keys, and swings open the dorm door. There are a few neatly arranged clothes piles, and a garden of post it notes growing out behind Hunk’s bed like a makeshift headboard. They say things like, “ur the actual best!” and “hey sexy” and “bet u get 1 million percent on ur test tmw.”  

Lance has polaroid pictures taped across the walls, big groups of people, all with wide, bright smiles. They look like Lance. Keith has never noticed the room before, not really. But it feels like theirs, not like any other dorm room. It feels like they’ve made it a home.

“Thanks guys,” Hunk says, crawling into bed and making a soft, contented noise as he burrows under the covers. “Is it gross I’m not brushing my teeth?”

“Nah,” Lance says, pulling out a bottle of water from the minifridge and placing it next to Hunk on the bed.

“Cool,” Hunk yawns. 

“We can,” Keith clears his throat and does his best not to wince. “We can go over write up details in the morning, okay Hunk? But you should get some sleep”

“Okie dokie Keith,” Hunk says. He’s asleep almost immediately after. 

Lance, on the other hand, watches Keith with narrowing eyes. “Are you alright?”

“What?”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m - fine.” Keith says. 

“Well you sound really sick.”

“Go to bed, Lance.” Keith turns around and walks out into the hallway.

“Hey, wait up!” Lance follows him out.

“ _What_.”

Now that they’ve gotten Hunk in bed, Keith feels everything acutely again. He leans back against the wall and tries to breathe. In through his nose, out through his mouth. It’s not working, and he wants Lance to leave him alone in case he has to sit down. Keith feels his heartbeat in his ears and his fingertips and his throat and his head.

“I just – hey, you’re really pale, are you –”

Keith is unmoored. The hallway tilts and his knees buckle and the ground rushes up.

“Woah!” Lance’s voice sounds tinny and far away. Keith suddenly and desperately misses the usual richness of Lance’s voice. Keith loves listening to Lance talk, he’ll pretend he’s not paying attention, but he always is. There’s something about the warmth, the clarity of Lance’s tone, that calms some of the anxiety roped in Keith’s chest.

“Keith! Keith?!” There are cool hands on his face and Keith’s vision snaps back to focus in one nauseating blink.

“Am I - on the floor?” It’s hard to string words together, but he knows something’s wrong, he knows he’s not where he’s supposed to be.

“You passed out for a second, you scared the hell out of me.” Lance feels for Keith’s pulse. “Jeez, you’re burning.”

“I’m…?”

Keith’s not burning, he’s cold. He’s freezing, actually. But Lance’s hands feel like heaven against his skin.

“Can you sit up?”

 _Sit up_ , Keith tells himself. But his limbs don’t listen. Something feels very strange and wrong and unreal.  _Like knowing you’re in a dream_ , Keith thinks.

Lance has to help Keith sit up against the hallway wall. In an instant he realizes where he is and what’s happened and Keith scrambles to his feet.

“Hey what are you, what are you  _doing_?” Lance yelps, grabbing Keith’s arm.

“Sorry, I’m fine, just needed a - a second.”

“You’re not fine. Like, at all.”

“Lance, you should go to bed.” Keith says, and wants more than anything to be somewhere else.  

“Are you insane? You just passed out in the hallway, I’m not going to leave you alone.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I mean,  _maybe_ , but I’m not a  _monster_.” Lance grabs Keith’s arm to steady him. Keith makes a noise – he hadn’t even realized he was listing to the side.

“I can’t believe you helped carry Hunk upstairs. I can’t believe you’re even out of bed. What are you doing?”

“I was doing my job,” Keith says.

“I know but that’s - someone else could’ve done this tonight, right?”

“Uhm,” Keith wishes he had a conversational map. He’s not quite sure how they got here or what he’s supposed to say.

Lance tugs at Keith’s arm until they’re walking back toward Keith’s room. The door isn’t locked, and Lance pulls Keith inside and presses on his shoulders until he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Have you taken anything?” Lance asks, looking around.

“For what?”

Lance squints down at Keith. “Are you fucking with me right now, or are you really this out of it?”

 “I’m –” Keith puts his head in his hands, because he can’t make his eyes stay focused. “Just confused about what you’re doing here.”

“Making sure you don’t die, apparently. Do you know how high your fever is?”

“No.”

“You’re an idiot.” Lance says, mostly to himself. “How are you at the top of our class when you’re such an idiot?” 

“Oh my god,” Keith groans into his hands. “Please shut up.”

“Do you even have a thermometer?” Lance doesn’t wait for an answer. “Nevermind, I should know better. Stay here.”

“Where ‘m I gunna go,” Keith mutters under his breath, but doesn’t move until Lance gets back.

“Don’t even try to argue with me,” Lance says, hands full with a thermometer and a packet of blue pills and a bottle of water. He holds out the thermometer. Keith just stares, so Lance shoves it under Keith’s tongue.

Keith feels like he’s completely lost control of the situation. 

The thermometer beeps shrilly, and Lance takes it back with a sharp breath. “Keith, what the fuck. You have a crazy high fever.”

The numbers 103.5 blink up at him.

“Is there someone I can call?”

Keith’s gotten that question a lot: after a high school fight that left him with a split lip and an expulsion warning, after his first panic attack, gasping and clutching his chest at a bus stop. After the first time he ran away and woke up on a park bench with two cops peering over him.

“No,” Keith says, prying the words from his throat. The answer is always no.

“What about Shiro?”

That get’s Keith’s attention. “How do you know Shiro?”

“Everyone knows Shiro.” Lance says. “And he’s your brother.”

“How did you - how do you _know that_?” Keith squeezes his eyes shut for a minute, trying to clear some of the haze in his head.

“It’s not exactly a secret, he talks about you a lot.”

“Oh,” Keith says, after a beat. 

“Do you want me to call him?”

“No.” Keith says. “No. Don’t wake him up. I’m just gunna sleep.”

Lance rocks on his heels and frowns down at Keith. “I kind of feel like I can’t leave you alone.”

“You can,” Keith says, but his words are immediately thwarted by a deep, crackling cough. 

“See! That sounds terrifying.”

“It’s just a cough.”

“You’re wheezing!”

“I am not.”

“You are, it sounds painful.”

“Lance…”

Lance bounces his weight from foot to foot. “What?”

“I’m supposed to be the one looking out for you, not the other way around.”

“Why not?!” Lance says, lips twisting. “You clearly need someone.”

“It’s unprofessional.”

“You’re my RA not my Professor, we’re the  _same age_. And anyway who cares! You’re sick.”

Before Keith can argue, Lance shoves the packet of blue pills and the water at him. “Take these.”

“What is it?”

“NyQuil. Should knock you right out.”

At this point, Keith feels too terrible to argue. He claws the pills from the plastic packet and follows them with water. It stings to swallow at all, and swallowing the pills makes him gag. He manages to get them down, but he’s left panting.

He’s never felt this sick before. It’s an effort to even keep his eyes open. Each blink tugs him farther and farther into a fever fog. His thoughts dart like minnows, he can’t catch them all through the swamp in his head.

“Thanks Lance,” Keith says, his voice low and raspy.

“No problem.”

“You should go back to bed.”

“But –”

“I’m just going to pass out. You don’t have to watch me sleep.”

“But what if you get worse,” Lance asks, crossing his arms.

“I promise I’ll be fine.” Keith says, as evenly as he can. Lance can’t stand still.  _He’s worried_ , Keith thinks,  _he looks worried_. 

“Okay…” Lance says. “But I’m coming over to check on you first thing in the morning. Deal?”

“I have to talk to Hunk, so you’ll see me either way.”

“Oh my god, Keith!”

“I’m sorry,” Keith says, head spinning. “I have to.”

“Not about that, Hunk’ll be okay. But you shouldn’t be out of bed tomorrow! Like, at all”  

Keith doesn’t know what to say.

“You look so sick, oh my god. Lay down.”

And Keith does. It’s about as surprising for Keith as it is for Lance.

Keith tugs his comforter up. It’s a silent, intimate moment. Lance watches with wide eyes.

Keith doesn’t have the energy to be ashamed.

“G’night,” he says, forcing his eyes back open. His eyelids are weighing him down. Each blink whispers sleep sleep sleep sleep.

“Night,” Lance says, voice low and gentle. “Feel better.”

Keith tries to answer, but he’s slipping deeper and deeper into the black, where it’s warm and quiet and still.

He feels someone push his hair back. Cool hands press against his face.  _It’s okay_ , he thinks, right before he fades to sleep. It’s okay.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd be interested in more sick!keith work from tumblr prompts (bc I'm trash lmao) would love to know if it would be better in individual fics, or one large aggregate story (with each individual fic in a different chapter). 
> 
> Love ya'll xoxo


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